HMS Diamond (2 page)

      
"I would suggest that we have been lucky in that God has granted us several years of peace with our neighbors. But I can guarantee you; the peace will not last forever. Sooner or later, we will need our fleet again, but all the ships in the world will be worth nothing unless we can defeat this scourge.

      
"Fortunately, I believe there is a cure. More then that, I believe there is a preventative that, if taken in the correct amount, will keep the scurvy from ever happening. That restorative, gentlemen, is citrus fruit—oranges, limes, lemons and the like. "

      
The audience began a low murmur. Some had vaguely heard of this remedy, others had not and clearly thought it preposterous.

      
"I came upon this conclusion many years ago," Walker continued in a slightly louder voice. "I was aboard the HMS
Tisiphone
on its way to the Battle of the Saints." Walker wasn’t going to go into detail on how
that
came about. "There I met their ship’s physician, Dr. Hiram Boult, who had a number of scurvy cases in his care. I naturally offered to help in any way I could.

      
"If you have ever dealt with this disease you know that, unfortunately, there is
nothing that can be done for these patients;" and Walker went on to tell them about the men he had encountered. He described their pale skins, covered with black blotches. He told of their brown spongy gums—gums that had grown over what was left of their teeth to the point where they couldn’t eat or drink. He told them of their listlessness, depression and despair. And, he wanted to describe the unbelievable stench that came from their nearly toothless mouths with every exhalation of breath, but found that part impossible to do.

      
"Finally, in frustration, I realized there was nothing I could do except perhaps make their final days as comfortable as I could.

      
"Now, those of you who know me know that I do not indulge in ardent spirits, not even wine. However, I do have a great fondness for lemon juice and do my best to obtain a supply on any ship on which I serve. Out of pity for several of these wretches, I gave them my lemon juice ration as perhaps their final treat in life. To my astonishment, the following day each man showed improvement. Within three days they were up and about, and within five days they were helping me take care of the others.

      
"Both Dr. Boult and I continued this treatment until the ship had run out of any manner of lemon, lime or orange. What was most astonishing, however, was that
only
those crewmen who were given this citrus remedy improved. None... I say,
none
of the others made any improvement whatsoever. They continued along with the course of the disease until they either died or we could get them ashore.

      
"I would submit to you, gentlemen, to prevent scurvy one need only add a small amount—perhaps two-thirds of an ounce of citrus juice—to the seaman’s daily grog ration. To cure scurvy, give the patient massive amounts of the juice or the fruit and even the worst case will be cured within a fortnight.

      
"That is the sovereign remedy, gentlemen. Citrus."

      
He was prepared to continue; but the murmuring had grown. Finally, the meeting chairman intervened.

      
"Gentlemen, please. May I have order? Gentlemen." He was striking his gavel with a bit more force now. "Please gentlemen, order!"

      
"Mr. Chairman, would the learned doctor yield for a question?" A booming voice penetrated the crowd noise. "A question, sir?"

      
The chairman seemed relieved that order was returning even if he was not the cause.

      
Glancing over to Walker for approval, he asked: "Yes, Dr. Pringle, by all means. Ask your question."

      
"May I ask the learned gentleman if he could enlighten us as to the mechanism of action of this ‘citrus solution’ of his? Exactly how does it effect its cure?"

      
Walker was afraid of a question like this because he didn’t know the answer and had to say as much.

      
"Pardon?" Pringle persisted.

      
"I said I don’t know the mechanism of action."

      
"Then perhaps you could describe the researches you have undertaken to establish the efficacy of your citrus cure."

      
"I have done no studies. I have not been connected with the navy since 1782."

      
"I see. So, what you are saying is that you have no scientific idea how the cure works or if it works. Do I understand you correctly?"

      
"No, sir. I
do
know that it works."

      
"Pray, how do you know that?"

      
"I’ve seen it work." He wanted to tell them that it was more than that. He felt it in his gut. This
was
the right cure. He just knew it; but he had no proof.

      
"Dr. Walker, are you aware of the numerous other treatments for scurvy? Are you aware that it supposedly can be treated with: vinegar, sauerkraut, seawater, garlic, mustard seed, gooseberries, dried radish root, bloodletting and fresh air. There is a physician somewhere who has seen all of those treatments ‘work.’ So, I ask you again. How does it work, sir? Can you give me even a theoretical explanation?"

      
Walker felt about two inches tall and said nothing.

      
"You can’t tell us? Well, I can tell
you
, young man.

      
"As any
informed
physician knows, every living thing has a certain amount of ‘fixed air’ in its body. You can detect this air when the creature dies and decomposes. The gas that is released is that same fixed air. It is well known to any modern physician that scurvy is caused by the untimely loss of that gas. That is why the scurvy patient’s breath is so vile.

      
"The cure is equally well known and was pioneered almost 30 years ago by Dr. David MacBride of Dublin. If a low level of fixed air in the body causes scurvy, then increasing those same air levels can cure it. Thus, we have MacBride’s Wort.

      
"MacBride’s Wort is fermented barley. When it enters the victim’s system the gases from the fermentation build-up the supply of fixed air.
That
, Dr. Walker, is what restores the health and vitality of the patient—not sucking on some oranges.

      
"The cure is easy to make, you can store it for over a year and, in these times of stringent naval budgets, it is quite inexpensive. You can hardly ask for more than that."

      
"Actually, doctor, you can. You can ask that the cure work." Walker knew as soon as he spoke, that it was the wrong thing to say.

      
"Indeed, sir? I have given you the mechanism of action. Are you aware that McBride’s Wort was proven efficacious in a clinical sea trial conducted by the navy?"

      
"Yes. It was done aboard the
Minerva
captained by none other than Dr. McBride’s brother. Captain McBride, not Dr. McBride, did the study and wrote the report."

      
"I take it then that you are impugning the motives and character of both men?"

      
"No, sir. I am simply saying that McBride’s Wort does not and
cannot
have any effect on scurvy. And, as for that cockamamie theory about ‘fixed air’..."

      
"Sir!" Pringle said, his face reddening. "I am the author of that ‘cockamamie theory’, as you so quaintly put it." Walker knew now, for sure, that he was in trouble.

      
Dr. Sir John Pringle was probably the most influential physician in all of England. Surgeon General of the Army, personal physician to the king, former president of the Royal Society; he was a man with social standing and clout—significant clout—and he wasn’t afraid to use it. "How was I supposed to know he was behind that stupid theory," thought Walker.

      
Pringle now closed in for the kill.

      
"Let me see if I can summarize your position, Dr. Walker. You say citrus fruits prevent and cure scurvy. Yet, you have no idea how it does so. Indeed, you have conducted no research to establish that it does so at all. On the other hand, you have no problem denigrating the work of Dr. McBride, his character, the character of his brother, my work, my character and that of His Majesty’s Navy, which has been using McBride’s Wort quite successfully for decades. Have I summed up your position adequately, doctor?"

      
Walker had no reply—at least not one that anyone would believe. All he wanted to do at the moment was to crawl under the dissection table. Fortunately, the chairman rescued him.

      
"Yes. Ah... quite," the chairman began. "I am sure we all wish to thank Dr. Walker and our learned colleague Dr. Pringle for giving us a great deal to think about. And with that, let me remind you that our next meeting will be on..."

      
The audience filed out the exit in the back of the amphitheater with the three naval officers leading the way. Walker was dejectedly stuffing papers back into his leather satchel when he sensed that someone had approached. He looked up.

      
"Boult? Hiram Boult! I’ll be. What on earth are you doing here?"

      
"I was in London, heard about your lecture and decided I couldn’t miss out on the fun. I could have told you this would happen, you know." The tall physician shook Walker’s hand.

      
He had aged a bit but still cut a handsome figure. This was the same person Walker had just been talking about, the physician on the
Tisiphone
, which had transported Walker, Smith, Whitney and Hanover to the Battle of the Saints. Later, he became the physician on the
Formidable
, Admiral Rodney’s flagship. Boult knew what scurvy was about and knew that the citrus cure worked.

      
"May I suggest we adjourn to the Bull and Bear across the street for some refreshment. I suspect you could use a tot."

      
The Bull and Bear was typical of dozens of east end London pubs. It was over-heated, smoky, stuffy and, on most evenings, noisy and crowded. This evening was an exception, however. The crowd was fairly small and, as a result, the noise level verged on tolerable. Boult grabbed a table by the fireplace and ordered a round of ale for himself and a lemon juice for Walker.

      
They talked in general terms for a while, getting caught up on each other’s lives; but Walker seemed distracted. Finally, he put his glass down and said, "Hiram. I’ve made a terrible mistake."

      
"What mistake might that be?"

      
"This... all of this. It was a mistake for me to go into medicine. I spent four years at one of the best medical schools in the world. I set up a practice in one of the finest areas of London. I am doing well financially, and I have everything a man could reasonably want."

      
"Except?"

      
"Except... I am bored senseless. I see 10 or 12 illnesses that occupy about 80% of my patient load. Of those, my treatments fall into one of two categories: either they don’t work, or they do work but I know in my heart that they would have probably gotten better no matter what I did."

      
"And do you think it would be any different if you were in some other profession? Do you think a lawyer, or for that matter a tailor, leads a life that’s any different?"

      
"No, I suppose not," Walker sighed.

      
"There’s more going on here than that, Lucas. What is it?"

      
Walker hesitated a long moment. "Yes, I suppose there is. I don’t know how to say this, but I am ashamed of my profession."

      
"Ashamed? That’s a strong word."

      
"Hiram, you were there tonight. You’ve been around. You’ve seen how our ‘colleagues,’ time after time, line-up to throw obstacles in the way of any new idea. They’ll do everything possible to destroy, or at least hinder it. Then, when it’s all done—when the idea is successful or proven right—they simply steal it as if it was their plan all along. It was like that when I was teaching and I can see it’s going to be like that again now."

      
It was Boult’s turn to pause. He knew Walker was right; and he also knew that that was the way things were in colleges and in the learned professions. There was nothing either of those groups feared more than a genuinely new idea; and that could be a serious problem to anyone with Walker’s creativity. Finally he said, "Have you ever thought of going back to sea?"

      
Walker chuckled. "Believe it or not, I have. But without Sidney and... well, it just wouldn’t be the same."

      
"But without Sidney and Susan Whitney? Was that what you were about to say?"